


the one who looks in the mirror

by IneffableInsomniac



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: ADHD, ADHD Penelope Garcia, Ableism, Anachronism, Autism, Autistic Spencer Reid, BAU family, Bullying, Chew Stimming, Chewelry, Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, Found Family, Garcia is a good friend, Gen, Hugs, Light Angst, Masking, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Protective Penelope Garcia, Sensory Processing Disorder, Spencer Reid Angst, Spencer Reid I Care You..., Spencer Reid-centric, Stim Toys, Stimming, Tactile Stimming, Team as Family, also i guess this is officially taking place later in season 1 since i namedropped elle, asd, but u know. whatever, gideon morgan and hotch will be appearing, i've only watched the first three seasons so. if this is inaccurate Too Bad, internalized ableism, many many tags to be added, maybe?? - Freeform, not sure whether i'm going to cover actual plot events. we'll see, possibly others but i don't have a great feel for writing jj or elle or prentiss, sensory issues, therapy is expensive. projecting my issues onto reid and making the bau comfort him is free, this is more along the lines of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28637280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableInsomniac/pseuds/IneffableInsomniac
Summary: dr. spencer reid learns how to accept help. most chapters can be read as standalone, but they will comprise a linear narrative."Don't forget that I cannot see myself -- that my role is limited to being the one who looks in the mirror.” - Jacques Rigaut, 1x4
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Elle Greenaway & Spencer Reid, Jason Gideon & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia & Spencer Reid
Comments: 36
Kudos: 124





	1. secrets that everybody guesses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no particular warnings for this chapter - reid is pretty out of it but that's all. there will be slightly heavier chapters in the future, but i don't intend for this work to go anywhere past a T rating, and nothing will be graphic.

Garcia isn’t especially close with Reid, but she’s not blind. Anyone who spoke to him for five minutes could tell that Reid was on the spectrum, and it only took her about thirty seconds to piece together the avoidance of eye contact, the pedantic speech, and the constant stimming, from scratching idly at his face and neck to pacing incessantly. It’s not like she’s an expert, but ADHD and ASD are similar enough that she can see a lot of herself reflected in him. Based on his other plethorae of knowledge, she assumes that he knows quite a bit about autism, but simply doesn’t think to apply it to himself.

She hadn’t planned anything out in particular - she’s about to walk past his desk when she notices him blinking really hard, almost rhythmically. Garcia stops for a moment, assessing the situation. Reid’s jaw is clenched, his foot is tapping, and when his eyes are open, they look blank and glassy. She walks up to the desk and speaks quietly, trying not to startle him.

“Hey, um, Reid, can I ask you something?”

Despite her caution, Reid still jolts a bit in his seat, his eyes refocusing into their usual intense analytical stare, and he looks up at Garcia. She also notices that he makes eye contact for only a brief second before settling his gaze somewhere around her chin. He searches for his voice, clearing his throat before responding.

“Uh. Yeah, shoot.”

She considers her wording for a moment, before settling on a neutral and non-invasive question.

“What can you tell me about autistic meltdowns?”

A brief look of confusion crosses his face before he begins to speak.

“A meltdown is characterized as a loss of behavioral control due to a stressor in the person’s environment. People on the autism spectrum can suffer meltdowns at any age, not just as children. There’s actually a common misconception that meltdowns are the same thing as temper tantrums, but they are entirely different phenomena - a tantrum is a fit of crying, screaming, or other attention-seeking behavior, usually caused by an emotional disturbance, while meltdowns are in response to a feeling of being overwhelmed.”

He’s clearly in his element, but Garcia interrupts him to guide the conversation.

“What might cause a meltdown?”

“The most common reasons for autistic individuals to have meltdowns is due to either an emotional or sensory overload. Emotional overload can be caused by pretty much any stressful event or circumstance, while sensory overload can be almost anything present in the environment - common triggers include flickering or harsh lights, strong smells, loud or unexpected sounds, or even the scratching of a clothing tag.”

Garcia glances up at the fluorescent lights casting a harsh white light over their workplace. Her own office is generally dim save for the computer screens, and she wears blue-blocking glasses to help with the eyestrain. She doesn’t envy Reid his workspace.

“Alright. So, how do you help someone who might be having one?”

“Well, most meltdowns are triggered by something in the environment, so helping the person remove themselves from any unpleasant stimuli is a good start. Most autistic people are also soothed by fidgeting - “stimming,” or self-stimulating behaviors, are an important part of sensory regulation for everyone, but it’s more of a requirement or even dependency for neurodivergent people.”

Reid pauses, his eyes flicking back up to meet Garcia’s. His leg is still bouncing rapidly.

“Why do you ask?”

She has to bite back a laugh at Reid’s complete lack of self-awareness. “Oh, just curious. I, uh. I have a friend who’s on the spectrum, and she, um, gets really stressed out in public places sometimes, so I wanted to, y’know…”

Rather than continue to fumble her way through the lie, Garcia trails off. Reid raises an eyebrow, but if he knows she’s lying, he doesn’t give it away.

“Aaalright. Did you need anything else?”

Shit. Um. What’d he say? Remove them from the situation. She glances down at her watch. 12:43 PM. Perfect.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No, why?”

“I was, uh, gonna go grab lunch at the coffee shop down the street. Did you wanna come along?” She sees the hesitation in his face and adds, “My treat!”

His face brightens, and she knows she’s made the right move. “If you insist.” He stands and follows her towards the elevator, and she notices that his jaw isn’t tensed anymore. Probably good for him to walk around rather than spiraling at his desk.

On the elevator ride down, Reid breaks their comfortable silence. “Did you know that 64% of adults in the US drink coffee every day?”

“Huh. I did not.” Garcia can tell he’s trying to make small talk in his own way, but it’s something she’s always been terrible at. However, she does know that Reid’s profusion of knowledge is under-appreciated, and she amends her response. “That’s... pretty interesting. Coffee is. Such an important part of life for a lot of people, I guess.”

Her response feels awkward and stilted, but Reid’s face lights up in excitement, and as he begins to talk about the epidemic of caffeine dependency in modern culture, Garcia makes a mental note to ask him about his interests more and to look into new lighting fixtures for the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There are no secrets better kept than the secrets that everybody guesses.” - George Bernard Shaw, 3x17
> 
> i have some chapters planned out, but let me know if there's any headcanons or concepts that you want to see!


	2. what comforts we should find

The door to the conference room swings shut behind Morgan as he walks in. “This better be important, baby girl. I skipped my coffee run to get here early like you asked.”

“Oh, trust me, sugar, it is. I’m desperately in need of your help.”

Morgan laughs, cocks an eyebrow. “And what could the supreme genius need help with?”

In response, Garcia grabs a bag sitting on one of the chairs and dumps its contents onto the table. A stack of folded plastic sheets slides out, along with a plastic baggie of what look to be small magnets. Morgan stares at them in confusion for several moments.

“Hot stuff, I’m gonna need a little more to go on.”

“They’re light screens!”

His expression doesn’t change.

“They, um, tint fluorescent lights to reduce eyestrain.”

“Huh. Alright, two questions. First: why?”

Garcia laughs nervously. “Well, you know how Reid is… ?” She waves her hand in a gesture that does nothing to explain her point. “You know.” Morgan clearly does not. “Probably on the spectrum.”

“Sweetness, I think everyone who’s met him knows that. Where are you going with this?”

“Well, he’s been really tense lately, and I think part of it is that he’s got sensory processing issues he doesn’t even know about. I know I couldn’t work at a desk like that.” Morgan nods as he listens - he’s one of the only people in the office who knows she has ADHD. “So, I was thinking that the conference room might be a good space where he could get away from all the noise and light.”

Morgan breaks into a grin. “You’re so considerate. That’s what I love about you, angel. But I still have one question: what do you need me for?”

“Aside from having eye candy around? I’m not tall enough to put these things up, and there’s no way I’m standing on one of these swivel chairs.” She makes her point by jostling a chair gently, causing it to sway wildly back and forth. “I love our boy genius, but not enough to file an OSHA report.”

“Fair enough. Anything else you need me to help with? I can tell when Reid’s getting overwhelmed, but I don’t really know what to do about it.”

As Morgan begins fumbling with one of the plastic sheets, Garcia runs down the list of coping mechanisms she’s mentally gathered from her conversation with Reid, research, and her own experiences.

“Well, the first and easiest thing to do is to get him away from whatever is stressing him out. You don’t have to be obvious about this, just suggest that you step outside or go elsewhere. It could be a lot of things - lighting, smells, sounds, textures. It might also help to find him something he can distract himself with, maybe some kind of puzzle? I could probably track down some disgustingly hard crosswords for him. And- oh, if you could maybe suggest to him working in here instead of the bullpen?”

Morgan’s a bit confused by the last request. “Why can’t you do it?”

Garcia fidgets with the hem of her sweater as she speaks. “Welllll, I think it would be better coming from you, and also. I don’t want him to make the connection between the lighting and the suggestion and my conversations with him. He’d think we’re babying him, and you know how he gets when he feels like people are treating him differently because he’s young.”

Morgan sighs in mock exasperation. “You’re killing me, dollface. But sure, I’ll mention it to him.”

Before long, the screens are in place, and the difference is subtle yet profound. The room is bathed in a warm glow rather than harsh, cold light, and it makes the space a lot more comfortable. They decide that Morgan will mention the screens to the team under the guise of protecting their eyesight, and they head to their desks feeling very pleased with themselves.

-

Morgan is on his way back from lunch when he walks by Reid’s desk and hears him mumbling under his breath. He’s about to ask what Reid is doing, but he pauses, remembering his conversation with Garcia.

Reid is clearly in distress. One of his hands is combing repetitively through his hair, turning it into a fluffy mess, and the other has a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the desk. He’s mumbling something to himself, and his eyes are unfocused.

Morgan, quite tactlessly in hindsight, taps him on the shoulder. Rather than jumping out of his skin, though, Reid doesn’t seem to notice the touch.

“Hey. Reid?”

Slowly, like watching a computer power on, Reid seems to become aware of his surroundings, his body language shifting and his eyes darting around the room as he comes back to reality from whatever corner of his mind he’d retreated into.

“Morgan. What’s up?”

Well, shit. He didn’t have any plan for this. “I, uh. You seemed kinda stressed. Are you okay?”

Reid’s response is much too quick, and the smile stretched across his face is stiff. “Yep, just fine. Why do you ask?”

Uhhh. Well, he doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s telling Reid what to do, so he decides that he’ll have to lead by example. “Nah, never mind, it’s nothing. Hey, I can’t hear myself think out here, so I’m gonna finish up my paperwork in the conference room. Do you wanna come with?”

A wave of relief visibly crashes over Reid, his shoulders falling from their tense position and his grimace shifting into a genuine smile. “Yeah, that sounds nice. It is pretty loud in here.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in there, pretty boy.”

Reid snorts at the nickname and begins gathering papers from his desk.

-

“Hey, look who decided to show up!”

Something is different.

Reid’s just walked into the conference room, and he should probably answer Morgan’s teasing remark, but something is… not wrong, just. Different. He begins scanning the room for anything out of place. Aside from Morgan and his array of files on the round table, everything seems to be in its usual place. “Does the conference room seem… weird, to you?”

“Actually, I was gonna mention it the next time we were all in here, but Garcia and I put filters over the lights. Apparently the fluorescents are bad for your eyes or something. I never really liked cold lighting, personally.”

Morgan quickly looks back down at his work - a bit strange, since he’s not the type to avoid eye contact. He almost seems like he’s hiding something, and it strangely reminds Reid of Garcia’s obvious lie after she asked him about autistic meltdowns. He files that away for later consideration and sits down across from Morgan.

“It’s… nice, I think. Definitely a lot less harsh.” Reid pauses for a moment, debating whether to keep talking.

He’s very aware that some (or most) people aren’t particularly interested in his endless supply of facts and statistics, but Morgan’s never been rude or mean when letting him know that it’s not an appropriate time to dump information on local police or witnesses.

“Garcia’s right about fluorescents having a negative impact on eyesight, you know. Fluorescent lighting may increase the rate of UV-related eye diseases by up to 12%, so the filters are definitely a good idea, considering how much time we all spend in here.”

Reid is pleasantly surprised to glance up and see Morgan listening to him without any visible irritation or annoyance. “Well, now that it doesn’t feel like a damn hospital, I might spend more time in here. Definitely beats the bullpen.”

A smile creeps across Reid’s face as he looks back down at his mountain of paperwork. He’s not sure what Morgan and Garcia are up to, but he’s definitely a fan of the change, so it can’t be too bad. “Yeah. I think I will, too.”

-

Garcia is walking past the bullpen when she notices Reid and Morgan missing from their usual spots. She takes a quick detour past the conference room, and when she looks in through the window, she sees Reid looking more relaxed than he has in days, despite the large stack of file folders in front of him. Morgan looks up from his laptop and notices her, and she flashes him a grin and a thumbs up before heading back to her office, a smug grin plastered across her face. She’d managed to help Reid, and that was certainly something to be proud of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If we knew each other's secrets, what comforts we should find.” - John Churton Collins, 3x17
> 
> my true nature as a SUUUPER dialogue-heavy writer is revealed here. i don't think this chapter needed any specific content warnings, but if i missed something, please let me know so i can put a note in the beginning notes. also none of my work is beta-read for grammar/spelling/etc, so if you see any typos feel free to point them out!! 
> 
> writing morgan and garcia banter is so much fun i'll definitely do more in the future :3 also i KNOW the conference room doesn't have recessed fluorescent lights but it's my fic and i get to make up the setting
> 
> anyways fuck fluorescent lights all my neurodivergent homies hate fluorescent lights


	3. a memory of the smell of smoke

“Anyone up to grab a drink after this?”

“Sure, I’m down.”

“Jesus, Morgan, you ever get tired?”

“Not after that plane ride. You all need to invest in some good headphones. Hey, Reid, you in?”

Reid’s eyes flick up from the files he’s pulling out of his desk drawer and stuffing into his messenger bag. “Oh, uh. No, I’m pretty tired. Gonna head home, maybe read a couple books before bed.”

“Spence, do you ever take a break?”

He’s opening his mouth to tell JJ that yes, reading _is_ a break, but is interrupted by Morgan when Garcia enters the bullpen.

“Hey, baby girl, you coming with us?”

Garcia thinks for a moment, tapping the end of her pen against her chin. “Mm, sure, but I’m gonna run home first. I was here all night running searches for you, tiger.” She winks dramatically, and Morgan laughs.

Reid finishes with his packing and slings his messenger bag and go-bag over his shoulders. He didn’t sleep on the plane as usual - his nerves were too high from helping take down the unsub, and the turbulence of the plane combined with the faint whistling of the air vents kept him on the edge of nausea the entire time. His earbuds were in his desk drawer, and his brain was too scattered to mentally rewatch anything that would calm him down. He was thoroughly looking forward to getting some shut-eye in the safety and comfort of his apartment.

“Have fun, guys, I’ll see you on Monday.” He smiles tightly at the rest of the BAU before heading towards the elevator. Garcia’s already gathered her things and locked her office, so she follows him.

The elevator doors slide shut behind them, and Garcia turns to Reid. “You alright? You look pretty beat.”

This time, his smile is more genuine, if a bit tired. “Yeah, just had a terrible plane ride back. I was a little shaken up by the case, and I’m just. Exhausted.” He sighs, and his shoulders slump.

“Well, I’ve, uh. I actually have something for you. You’ve been really tense lately, and I think it might help with some of the stress stuff.”

He looks over, a little confused, as Garcia digs through her purse and pulls out a small box. She presses it into his hands. “I don’t know if this is your kind of thing, but, you know. People with- Uh. It’s a good anxiety tool.”

Reid’s still listening, but his attention is focused on the box. He lifts the lid and finds… something. Lifting it out, it appears to be a small plastic cube covered in buttons and dials. He presses one experimentally and is intrigued by the soft click it produces. “What does it do?”

“It’s, uh, it’s called a fidget cube. It doesn’t really _do_ anything per se, just gives you something to do with your hands-”

Reid cuts her off, an expression on his face that she isn’t familiar with. Annoyance. “Garcia, this is nice, but I’m not a child. I don’t need toys to fiddle with.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “It’s not childish. I use them. I, uh. I have ADHD, and it helps me a lot.”

Oh. Oh, shit. “Shit, sorry, I- I didn’t mean to imply anything, you’re not- I just.” He’s staring down at his feet determinedly, and the soft click of plastic as Reid slides the joystick around seems deafening in the elevator. “I wouldn’t judge you for it, but. You know why Gideon always introduces me as ‘doctor?’”

She doesn’t ask, just waits for the answer.

“He wants to make sure that people don’t see me as a kid. I was bullied as a kid for having toys with me because I was supposed to have the maturity of a high schooler as well as the intelligence. I’ve spent my entire life trying to be seen as mature and to gain people’s trust and respect, and I just- I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize that.”

“I know, Reid, but your mental health has to come first. Look, I- you’ve seen my office, it’s full of desk toys and nobody judges me for it. Nobody on the team is going to judge you, and if they do, I’ll kick their ass, alright?” Reid laughs a little at the idea of Garcia attempting to hurt someone like Hotch or Morgan.

He’s quiet for a moment, and the elevator doors open onto the ground floor. He’s started running his thumb over the ball bearing inset on one of the cube’s faces. “… Fine. I’ll try it out. Thank you. Sorry for, uh, what I said. I didn’t mean to imply-”

Garcia interrupts him with a pat on the shoulder. “I know you didn’t, boy wonder. No hard feelings.”

He gives her another tired smile before they head their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.” - Tom Stoppard, 3x16
> 
> yes i KNOW this elevator ride is absurdly long i simply Do Not Care it's a convenient plot device. is the bau even on an upper floor? fuck it
> 
> reid adultified himself to protect himself as a child and teen and was definitely bullied for enjoying toys/sensory items yes i am projecting
> 
> this is a pretty short chapter, but it will be continued. i'm also changing the fic description because this is turning out to be a more connected narrative than i originally intended
> 
> also, a detail that i cut from this chapter: the book reid was planning on reading was originally named as being the most recent april 2006 issue of the american journal of psychiatry, particularly because it features an article on the second phase of testing for several antipsychotic medications being tested specifically for use with schizophrenic patients. i know that fidget cubes were invented in 2016 shhhhhhh


	4. a scar left behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for internalized ableism - reid has some Issues from his high school experience

The digital clock on the counter reads 12:43 AM when Spencer opens the door to his apartment. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was planning to read before bed, but as the adrenaline of bringing in an unsub and the sourceless anxiety of the plane ride had left his system, he’d quickly realized just how deeply exhausted he was.

Under normal circumstances, he’d probably unpack his go-bag and head to sleep, but his conversation with Garcia had set him thinking, and the dots of the past few weeks are quickly connecting. He recalls what Vincent Shyer had said about him during the case they’d worked in New Haven - “the autistic leanings of the very insecure Dr. Reid. Well, maybe he can make money counting cards in Las Vegas.”

Spencer enters the room and sets his bags on the couch, declining to turn on the light. The brightness isn’t going to do his headache any favors, and he knows the layout of the apartment.

Instead of heading to the bedroom, though, he sits down on the couch and pulls his laptop out of his messenger bag, setting it on the coffee table. After a moment, he grabs the fidget cube out of his pocket and begins examining it in the glow of the computer screen, something he’d neglected to do in his hurry to get home.

The sides include a thumb-sized indent in the plastic (reminiscent of a worry stone, his mind helpfully supplies), a rotating dial, a toggle switch, a set of five small buttons (two of which are silent), a row of ratcheting gears and a swiveling marble, and a large joystick.

Spencer turns the toy over slowly in his hands, testing out each mechanism in turn. It’s oddly calming, and he takes a few moments to play with it before setting it next to his computer and beginning his research.

First - “fidget cube.”

The website he lands on is an online shop that seems to sell these fidget cubes and something else called “fidget spinners.” He stores that away for later research and clicks on the promotional video at the top of the page. The audio plays over his tinny laptop speakers.

“I never really thought it was a problem. I'd always suspected those around me had seen my incessant pen clicking, knee shaking, and desk tapping. But I had no idea how bad it had gotten. I just fidgeted. All the time. With anything I could get my hands on. It didn't matter what-“

Spencer pauses the video. Is this how people see him? Incessant? Fidgety? Feeling slightly attacked, he goes back to his initial search and scrolls until something catches his eye - an article entitled “Fidgets Cubes Awkward Relationship to Autistic Stimming.”

It takes him about ten seconds to look over the article; it talks about how the popularization of fidget toys is both beneficial to the normalization of stimming and harmful by sanitizing the idea of stimming. But the portion that strikes him the most is one in which “stimming” is actually defined.

“From hand squeezing patterns to jumps every set number of steps, bleeping noises to rocking on the floor, I seemingly needed to engage in sensory patterns to calm myself. This is often referred to within Autistic Spectrum diagnosis as stimming. It can cover behaviours from small tapping motions up to full body twists, turns and rocking. It’s often a response to sensory overload.”

The pieces are falling into place. Garcia had asked him about autistic meltdowns and sensory overload. Morgan had helped her put up light screens and gotten him to work in the conference room. And then the fidget cube.

Spencer’s never been great at emotions - disentangling them, naming them, much less dealing with them.

He’s… well, first off, he’s angry. Angry that Garcia and Morgan were trying to help him with a condition he doesn’t have, without his knowledge, angry that they didn’t think he’d figure it out, angry that he’s being treated differently.

But he’s also… thankful? He appreciates that his friends care about him, that they noticed him struggling and did something about it.

His brain feels staticky and conflicted, and he’s reaching for the fidget cube to soothe himself before he even realizes. He stops himself, not wanting to prove Garcia right, but decides that there’s no point in not using it, and is surprised when the fog of exhaustion and muddled emotion lifts slightly from his mind. Once he’s feeling a little better and his mind is refocused, he makes another search - “stimming.”

-

It’s 1:37 AM when Spencer snaps out of his intense focus. He’s been reading articles on adult symptoms of autism and late diagnosis, alongside more information on sensory issues, and as much as he hates to admit it, a few things have struck major chords with him.

As long as he can remember (which is quite a long time), he’s incessantly chewed on things. These days, it’s restricted to gum, the insides of his cheeks, and his nails if he lets them get too long, but as a kid, he destroyed sweatshirt strings pencils, shirt collars… the list goes on. He can’t wear clothes with plastic tags, he can’t eat certain foods because of the texture, and he can’t stand strong smells or bright lights.

His speech patterns are pedantic, he struggles to interpret social cues, and he has intense, specific interests that he can talk for hours about.

But if Dr. Spencer Reid were autistic, how would he have made it into the BAU? He can function fine in society, so there’s no point in speculating. He’s a competent adult, and if he forgets to eat or breaks down in the presence of a flickering light, that’s not _ab_ normal, right? Everyone has to consciously control their facial expressions for the comfort of others. He’s not different. He’s just… a little weird.

Autistic was something he got called in school, not a condition he actually had. Other people, but not him.

He reaches up to scratch at his face, but stops himself and reaches for the cube instead, flicking the toggle switch back and forth. If he’s gonna have this thing, he might as well use it to break bad habits.

Spencer sighs and shuts the laptop, picking up his bags and computer and taking them into the bedroom to unpack. He’ll deal with this in the morning. And he’ll definitely be talking to Garcia and Morgan on Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The defects and faults of the mind are like wounds in the body. After all imaginable care has been taken to heal them up, still there will be a scar left behind.” - Francois de la Roche Foucauld, 2x1
> 
> the vincent shyer quote comes from 1x5 "Broken Mirror." the fidget cube quote is the actual dialogue of the antsy labs fidget cube promotional video. the article quoted can be found at https://laurakbuzz.com/2017/02/06/fidget-cubes-awkward-relationship-to-autistic-stimming/ and is a great read for an explanation of how fidget cubes/fidget spinners' popularity is a double edged sword.
> 
> next chapter will be a fun confrontation that i am VERY excited to write. also, some of the episode bookend quotes are extremely applicable to the concept of masking, and i'm definitely working that in. all engagement is appreciated (especially comments which heal my soul)!! i wrote this in one sitting without proofreading so i'm certain there are typos sldjfhskdf


	5. calm before the storm

Monday, 8:47 AM

_Group chat has been created by Spencer Reid._

_Spencer Reid has added contacts: Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan._

SR: I need to talk to you. Meet me in the conference room at 9:30.

_Penelope Garcia is online._

PG: …

PG: alright

_Derek Morgan is online._

DM: Why?

_Spencer Reid is offline._

DM: Oook then

_-_

Monday, 8:53 AM

_To: Hot Stuff_ 🔥

shit do you think he figured it out? i KNEW the cube was too obvious gdi

_To: Baby Girl_ ✨

Kid’s got an iq of 187, he was going to sooner or later

Now we deal with the fallout i guess

_To: Hot Stuff_ 🔥

i just hope he isn’t mad, i don’t know if i can deal with an angry reid

_To: Baby Girl_ ✨

Worst case scenario, he yells at us.

We were trying to help, he’ll get that

_To: Hot Stuff_ 🔥

i know. i’m just worried he’ll feel betrayed

_To: Baby Girl_ ✨

_…_

Me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya! i got sidetracked with college stuff and the angst reid one-shot i just posted (check my profile :3), so today you get a short series of texts because i am too tired for narrative coherency. i will probably have the motivation to write the ACTUAL next chapter tomorrow (read: in ten hours)
> 
> i've seen text fics before and i kinda like the simplicity and format, so leave a comment if you want to see more text message-based chapters in the future!!


	6. a sort of comedy

9:27 AM.

Garcia leaves her office and begins walking slowly towards the conference room. Maybe if she walks slow enough, she’ll simply never get there. Delaying the inevitable.

But, unfortunately, time and space still work normally, and she’s standing outside the door far sooner than she hoped.

Morgan’s already waiting by the door, and Reid can be seen through the window. He’s hunched over his laptop and scribbling something down in a notebook - some kind of personal research, probably.

Morgan offers a tired grin, opening the door. “Ladies first.”

Normally, Garcia would have a retort of some kind, something about having to act ladylike to be considered a lady, but she simply returns the smile and walks in, Morgan following.

Reid’s eyes flick up briefly from his laptop, but he continues writing for several more moments. Morgan’s a profiler; he can recognize an assertion of dominance over a conversation when he sees one. He’s surprised, then, at how effective it is despite his awareness.

A stiff silence hangs in the room as Reid finishes writing and shuts his laptop. Neither Garcia nor Morgan can bring themselves to break it, and they wait until he closes his notebook and looks up at them.

“Would either of you care to explain what you’ve been doing?”

Garcia takes the lead. Her voice is… shaky, almost nervous. “Reid, I- we shouldn’t have done anything without telling you, but Morgan wasn’t really- it was my idea.”

Morgan’s about to cut in and defend Garcia when Reid responds curtly, an expression on his face that is supposed to be an annoyed grin but looks much closer to a grimace.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve both been treating me differently, and I don’t appreciate it.”

That’s it. Reid has every right to be upset, but he’s not going to hurt his baby girl’s feelings. “Reid, we were trying to help. You’ve been working yourself to the brink of a meltdown, and somebody had to step in before you tipped over that edge!”

The terse expression deepens, and his brow creases in frustration. “See, there’s that word, ‘meltdown.’ Not breakdown. Meltdown. Associated most commonly with either children-“ Reid pauses, stands up and leans against the table. “Or people on the autism spectrum. You know I’m neither of those things, so why are you treating me like I am?”

This… isn’t Morgan’s area of expertise. He lets Garcia take the lead, her voice quiet and hesitant. “Reid, I- I know you haven’t been diagnosed, but. It’s a possibility. You should at least consider it. I wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until after I joined the Bureau - they miss learning disabilities in people who’re intelligent and mask well enough.”

Reid has a response, but the term isn’t one he’s encountered before, and it derails his train of thought. “Mask?”

“It, um, refers to people who can pretend effectively to be neurotypical by learning how to decode social interactions and repress their tendencies towards non-‘normal’ behavior. But it’s exhausting. A lot of undiagnosed neurodivergent people have severe episodes of burnout in their teens or 20s because masking takes so much effort. If I hadn’t come here and been diagnosed, I don’t- I don’t know.”

Reid’s clearly turning this information over in his mind, connecting it to everything else he’s learned, so Morgan cuts in. “Look, kid, even if you’re not… on the spectrum, you’ve still been having a rough time lately. And before you remind me of the inter-team profiling rule, anyone could see that you’ve been off your game. You’re shaky, nervous, and exhausted.”

Another uncomfortable silence blankets the room. It’s broken by Reid, who’s staring at his feet and sounds less confident than either of them have ever heard him (aside from possibly when he and Morgan were trapped in an elevator.)

“… I know. It makes a lot of sense. I just- I don’t know if I’m prepared to admit that to everyone. And to myself.”

Both Morgan and Garcia immediately switch their tone from defensive to comforting. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re not- nobody’s gonna judge you if you find out you’re autistic. You’re still an incredible, smart, wonderful person no matter what, okay?”

“Kid, you’re a genius and an incredible asset to the team. But more than all that, you’re our friend, alright? Whatever you need, we’re here for you. Even if you don’t look into the possibility, we want you to feel better.” Morgan’s tone shifts to a more joking one. “If that means changing all the goddamn light bulbs in this building, we’ll do it, okay?”

Reid crosses the room, still deliberately avoiding eye contact, until he’s in front of them.

“… I’m still mad you didn’t tell me.”

“I know. We’re sorry-”

“But. I’m glad you’re looking out for me. I appreciate it. And I- I’ll think about it, okay?” Reid’s voice begins to crack on the last word, and Garcia steps forward and pulls him into a hug that he reciprocates after a moment of surprise.

“I’m glad. Lord only knows what we’d do around here without the boy wonder and his physics magic.” Garcia laughs at her own joke and looks to Morgan. “Come on, sugar, get over here. Our resident genius needs some TLC.”

“I do not!”

“Don’t fight it, kid, she’s not letting you get away.” Morgan chuckles rolls his eyes, closing the gap and wrapping his arms around Garcia and Reid. He’s so lucky to have these two as his friends.

When they finally let go of Reid after Garcia determines he’s been given enough affection for one morning (“One month is more like it,” Reid mumbles, and the other two both make mental notes to hug him more often), they all feel a lot better.

“You know you can talk to us anytime, right, Reid? Nobody on the team is gonna judge you if you need help. Just because you’re younger than us doesn’t mean you need to be extra-tough to make up for it.” Garcia sounds a lot less anxious now that the elephant in the room has been addressed.

A tired sigh. “I know. I’ll try. … Thank you.”

“Hey, anything to help. We’re family, right?”

Reid takes pause at this. Sure, he has his mom, but he’s never really had that sense of belonging that seems to come so naturally to other people. But maybe, if he lets his guard down a little, he’ll find it here. A genuine smile forms on his face this time.

“Yeah. Family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Now what else is the whole life of mortals, but a sort of comedy in which the various actors, disguised by various costumes and masks, walk on and play each ones part until the manager walks them off the stage?” - Erasmus, 3x6
> 
> ohohO i can't write confrontation for shit
> 
> i am a big ol sucker for found family and this chapter is brought to you by Platonic Yearning (TM) because i miss all my friends so much. frogs if you're reading this i am going to kiss you all on the forehead SO tenderly next time i'm in ic mark my fucking worms
> 
> anyways thank you for reading, engagement fuels my drive to write and is GREATLY appreciated!! recognizing names in the kudos list from my favorite fics makes me go absolutely apeshit because someone who is good at writing?? enjoys my writing?? huh?????
> 
> (also i will not be making this a ship fic but god DAMN these three would make such a good triad and there are not nearly enough fics for it so. maybe i'll write some reid/morgan/garcia in the future?? we'll see :3)


	7. what we will be

“Morning, everyone.” Reid walks into the conference room with a small wave.

Nobody can put their finger on why, exactly, but he looks… different. Healthier. More relaxed, or perhaps the dark circles under his eyes are less pronounced than usual. A haircut, maybe?

“Looking good, Spence,” JJ remarks as he drops into the seat next to her.

Morgan smirks at him across the round table. “You dressing for someone, kid?”

His brow furrows in confusion. “No? I don’t- this is how I always look.”

“Huh. Well, you look nice today, anyways,” Elle says, eliciting a shy grin from Reid before they all turn their attention to the files in front of them.

As JJ begins to explain the details of their newest case, Reid starts to drum his fingers on the table before he remembers the fidget toy in his pocket. Garcia had been letting him nab her desk toys one at a time to try them out, and this one was something called a “tangle.”

The repetitive motion of it was calming, and as he turned and twisted the plastic links in his hands, Reid found that it took a lot less mental effort to follow the conversation surrounding him.

Aside from Morgan and Garcia, nobody is entirely certain as to why Reid seems so much happier and more engaged, but they’re glad he’s feeling better.

-

Before the team leaves, Reid swings by Garcia’s lair to drop off the tangle. It’s one of his favorite “focus tools,” as she calls them (he’s not a fan of the word “toys”), and he’ll probably end up getting one of his own. He’s found that he prefers hard plastic and clicking sounds - his least favorite thus far has been a small squishy cat that stuck slightly to his fingers and made him want to stop having fingers at all.

“Thanks for letting me try all of these out, Garcia.”

“It’s no problem, boy genius, I’ve got enough of these that I barely notice them missing.”

She’s not wrong - Reid’s eyes rake over the array of brightly-colored desk toys, and many of them seem to be similar or even simply color variants of the same item. He’s drawn to a small silicone ring on a necklace cord, and picks it up by the string.

“What’s this one?”

“Oh, that’s, uh, not one you can borrow. It’s chewelry.”

“Chewelry?”

Garcia looks almost embarrassed as she explains. “It’s, uh, for chew stimming. Stops you from biting your nails or chewing gum or stuff like that.”

It takes a moment for Reid to understand, but he drops the item almost immediately. As much as he’s aware that Garcia is a meticulously-clean person, he doesn’t want to touch something that’s been in someone else’s mouth, sanitized or not.

“I can recommend a website if you want to try one out.”

Reid laughs in disbelief. “Absolutely not.” Noting the put-out look on her face, he continues. “Before you say anything, I- I don’t think it’s childish, but other people do, and I can’t use something like that in the field.”

She sighs defeatedly. “I know. Just… something to think about, I guess.”

“… I will. Thanks, Garcia.”

“No problem, 187. Stay safe out there, okay?”

He grins crookedly as he leaves for the jet. “I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...within the core of each of us is the child we once were. This child constitutes the foundation of what we have become, who we are, and what we will be." - Dr. R. Joseph, 3x14
> 
> short-ish chapter because i'm setting up some more things and didn't want it to get out of hand. let me know what you think!!


	8. disguised to ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning - this chapter opens with a few members of the team discussing a case. it's not any more graphic than any of the profiling discussions they have in the show, but i don't want anyone to get caught off-guard by mentions of sexual assault or murder, however vague.

“Alright, we’re most likely looking at an anger-retaliatory offender, based on the encounters described by the surviving victims.” Hotch is the first to speak.

He’s reading over files at the local Bureau office with Morgan and Reid while the rest of the team talks to the witnesses they’ve found. There have been a series of sexual assaults in the area, and the BAU was brought in when the most recent victim was found dead.

Reid adds on. “The victims have all been white women in their 20s, but they aren’t particularly consistent in terms of appearance, so it’s likely that these are women who the unsub has encountered before in some capacity, rather than representative of a specific woman. The fact that they don’t remember him likely adds to his rage, which has clearly escalated with his most recent victim.”

One of Morgan’s favorite parts of the job is how well their team works together on profiles, the process of adding onto each other’s ideas and suggesting new ones until they’ve truly managed to understand the motive and MO of a criminal. He speaks up.

“Retaliatory rapists are looking for the thrill of some form of vengeance, so now that he’s killed for the first time, he’s not going to stop until-“

“Son of a bitch!”

Both sets of eyes fall on Reid, who seems to only realize a few seconds later that he’s spoken aloud. He turns a bit red and sets down the takeout container he’d been eating from at Gideon’s insistence. (He's well aware by this point of Reid’s tendency to forget things like food and sleep in pursuit of an unsub.)

“Sorry, I- shit, ow, uh.” In lieu of an explanation, Reid holds up a cracked plastic spoon and is met with puzzlement from Hotch and Morgan. “It… broke. While I was eating.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. There are more urgent matters than his confusion at how Reid managed to hurt himself by breaking a plastic spoon. He resumes his train of thought, and if he notices Reid pick up the accompanying plastic fork and begin chewing absentmindedly on the tines, he doesn’t say anything.

-

Spencer’s in the middle of losing a heated chess game with Gideon when he overhears a conversation between Elle and Derek, and he turns in his seat to offer his opinion on Elle’s choice of words.

“Actually, there’s nothing preventing lightning from striking the same place twice, although it is somewhat unlikely. There’s around 8 million lightning strikes every day, so-“

Morgan chuckles. “Relax, pretty boy, it’s an expression.” Reid’s brow knits together, and he’s about to start another tirade on the role of idioms in popularizing false information when Elle butts in.

“Did you know that biting your nails can actually lead to appendicitis?”

Reid’s confused by the relevance of the information, but he turns and moves one of his rooks before resuming the conversation. “Well, that one is actually true to a degree, if an uncommon reason for appendicitis to develop, but I don’t see how-“

Wait. Oh. Reid pulls his free hand away from his mouth and inspects the damage. He’s been trying to stop biting his nails, to little avail - his hands seem to end up near his mouth any time he isn’t paying attention to them. “Damn it. Thanks for reminding me.”

“No problem.” She grins at him before turning back to the card game she’s playing with Morgan, and Reid turns just in time to see a shit-eating grin form on Jason’s face as he slides a bishop across the board.

“Checkmate.”

-

At Gideon’s prompting, Hotch and Reid had gone on a fast-food run for the team while they sifted through evidence at the station. The two of them had been at it the longest without breaks, and Derek had pointed out to Jason that neither had consumed anything other than coffee since they’d flown in the day before, so they were tasked with grabbing breakfast for the team.

They’re on their way back, Reid’s classical music playing over the car’s stereo, when Hotch notes something about the disgustingly sweet frappuccino in Reid’s hand. Must be the profiler in him talking. “Why’s the straw all chewed up?”

Reid pauses and looks down at the half-empty drink, stripes of caramel and chocolate syrups decorating the inside of the cup. He frowns slightly. “I… don’t know. Didn’t realize I was doing it.”

Hotch isn’t sure why he seems so annoyed with the question, so he doesn’t press. He’s too tired to, anyways. Reid, on the other hand, seems to be thinking out loud.

“I… think I do it a lot. Maybe it’s calming? Like when people tap their foot or chew gum habitually or something.” Both of which he does constantly. Goddammit. He hates proving people right. Hotch watches from the corner of his eye as Reid pulls out his phone and begins tapping out a message.

-

Thursday, 7:24 AM

_To: Penelope Garcia_

Where can I get "chewelry" online?

 _To: Boy Wonder_ 🌠

never thought you'd ask lol

chewigem, stimtastic, and ARK are my faves!!

also, told ya ;)

_To: Penelope Garcia_

Thanks. Also, fuck off.

 _To: Boy Wonder_ 🌠

you wound me, darling. 😘

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.” François de la Rochefoucauld, 1x20
> 
> these are all situations that i have pulled directly from my own life because i put everything constantly in my mouth and have cut my lip on broken plastic cutlery many, many times. chomp
> 
> finally hotch appears. i think he's the only person i haven't name-dropped or had speak so far (although i may have simply forgotten.) also i miss gideonnnnnnnnnn come back mr inigo montoya i care you
> 
> (also in case the messages seem ambiguous, i promise reid isn't actually mad they're just goofin)
> 
> oh also!! garcia has an emoji next to everyone's name in her contacts. reid's star is meant to reference "The More You Know" :))


End file.
